


Bye, bye, Johnny

by pinkbubblesgo (lavatorylovemachine)



Series: Jukebox Stories [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 2000s, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Male Friendship, Musicians, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-14 06:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8002117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavatorylovemachine/pseuds/pinkbubblesgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was never good at the feelings stuff. But he had come for a reason and wasn’t going to walk away just now, not even if he had walked away from many things in the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bye, bye, Johnny

**Author's Note:**

> To the memory of Robbin Crosby and Scott Weiland.

It wasn't a day for funerals. A warm Californian spring day like that called for something else; a walk by the beach maybe, a barbecue with some friends, anything but a funeral.

And yet there he was. Stepping out of the car, he put on his huge sunglasses and walked towards the hill populated by a mass of black suits and dresses. All his friends were there, people he hadn't seen in five, ten years. Some had wives and kids, most had cut their hair.

"Rory..." one of them, a bassist who had toured with him once, greeted in a whisper. “Hi..."

Rory drew a half-smile and raised a hand towards the others, who had turned around to greet him as well.

And then it kicked in. It was Johnny's funeral... it had really happened. Johnny, the youngest of them all, the soul of all parties, the one everyone thought was gonna live forever. Rory could hear his laugh, his fucking contagious laugh, echoing in the cemetery.

If anyone was going to kick the bucket it was you, Rory, Rory himself thought, youth memories flashing before his eyes. Reckless fucking idiot like you, was lucky to still be breathing. It was all a game, isn't it? How many shots of heroin one could take before puking, how many chicks one could sleep with without catching something, how many good records one could release before karma finally took care of you.

The priest announced the beginning of the speeches, and Johnny's wife approached the podium. Rory didn't dare look at her, much less at his friend's parents, so he was thankful for his conveniently dark sunglasses.

They were only kids, kids trapped in twenty-something year olds' bodies, and it seemed logical to introduce your friends to the hardest drugs around. Rory couldn't have known Johnny's mind and body were too weak to stop when everyone else was stopping. He started wanting more and more until two heart attacks were a clear sign he didn't have much time left. Then he caught the virus, and it was all downhill ever since.

So his death wasn’t exactly a surprise; they all knew it was coming. Still, it’s different, Rory thought. Waiting for your friend to be put underground so people can put flowers over him on Sundays is damn fucking different.

Rory strayed his eyes again, this time from the coffin, wishing he could get away and not feel a thing. He was never good at the feelings stuff. But he had come for a reason and wasn’t going to walk away just now, not even if he had walked away from many things in the past.

Once the service was over, Rory walked towards the tomb and knelt down. It had Johnny’s name, his date of birth and death, but no epitaph. Rory remembered with a small chuckle the epitaph Johnny had thought up for himself many years ago, drunk out of his ass at a party: "Johnny B. Kicking ass in Heaven."

"Hey, Johnny..." Rory said in a trail of voice, touching the tombstone. "I haven't forgotten about our talk the other night... what I promised... I'm working on it, alright? I'm not bullshitting you either, I'm really gonna do it... Alright..." Rory could feel his throat tightening. "Alright... Goodbye, buddy..."

"Talking with the dead now?"

Rory turned around. It was Dave, his former drummer, the guy with the darkest sense of humor in their former band. He probably had been cracking jokes about the deceased a few minutes before.

"What do you care, Dave? Shouldn't you be hitting on the single chicks by now?" Rory joked.

"Not when there isn't any booze around. I don't know what the hell they did with all the booze."

"Some of us are trying to get clean, you know."

Dave laughed hoarsely. "That's not what you said to the press, man."

"I don't want them to make some big circus out of this. I don't want some big flashy title saying 'Rory Blade Is Sober Now’, they can fuck off for all I care. I'm doing this for someone else." He made a pause. He hadn't intended for Dave, of all people, to find out about this, but now that they were both there... "I promised Johnny I'd get clean, a few nights before he died. He looked at me in the eyes and told me he didn’t want anyone else to die. Turns out he loved us, the bastard.”

Rory smiled, containing the emotion behind his glasses, while Dave laughed again, this time with a bit of a throat knob and moistened eyes.

“So, yeah... I told him I would get clean, even if I had to, I don’t know, lock myself in a fucking loony bin.”

The former drummer glanced at Rory with narrowed eyes.

"And are you fulfilling that promise?" he asked.

Rory smiled. "I'm on the right track, yeah."

"Good, because otherwise Johnny's gonna piss off the entire heaven."

They both laughed, looking at the sunset before them. After a while they felt footsteps approaching them, small and quick footsteps. Rory turned to his right and had to lower his head to see who the intruder was.

“Hi, little buddy,” he said to the kid, who was staring down at the tombstone.

“Are you my new dad now?” the kid asked, looking up at Rory.

Dave snorted with laughter. “What the fuck did you do, Rory?”

“Nothing,” Rory laughed as well. “Little Mick has it all confused.” Rory squatted and took Mick’s hands in each of his. “I’m your godfather now. Your dad will always be your dad, okay?”

Mick nodded. “Will you be living with us?”

“No, but I’ll be there for you. If you’re ever in trouble, or if you want presents---“

“Does that mean I’ll get to go to Disneyland for my birthday?” the child’s face brightened up.

Rory chuckled. “Yes, you will.”

“Awesome. Thanks, godfather Rory,” Mick said and hugged him.

Rory chuckled. “Just call me Rory from now on.”

“Okay,” Mick said as he broke the embrace. “I’m going with mom now.”

“Sure," Rory got to his feet. "Go, little Mick.”

The kid ran off, leaving Rory and Dave staring at the horizon again. It wasn't that bad of a spring day after all.


End file.
